Language of the Mad
by SilverKnight
Summary: Ignorance is such bliss.


I've been holding onto this one-shot for months now. I had initially intended this to be longer, maybe including some very twisted AeriSeph elements to it, but I just couldn't figure out how to continue it past where I left it in the final product, so I figured I might as well cap it off there and let you guys stew. I'm not too terribly happy with it, given that most of it is rather mediocre leading up to the end, but then, I guess that makes the ending that much more fucked up. Oh yeah, and I stole a line from JLU. Bite me. :p

Enjoy.

Disclaimer: _Final Fantasy VII is property of Square-Enix. I'm making no profit off of this and intend no infrigement._

_**Language of the Mad  
**__By: SilverKnight_

Aeris had come to the Forgotten City with the hopes of stopping his final descent before it began.

She stepped from the winding marble and stone stairwell that led to the above world and gaped at her surroundings, her small porcelain-colored hand flying to her lips to stifle a gasp of shock. It was obscenely beautiful; the stark whites of the towers and buildings were wound with the deepest of green-blue vines and rocks, the nearby lake reflecting the scenery with a perfect, almost unnatural clarity. Distantly, she wondered why there had been no moss or other kind of bacterial fungi to grow in the stagnant crystal blue waters, but her mind was currently elsewhere; her emerald green eyes focused on a tall, imposing figure mere yards away that was so utterly motionless she wondered if he weren't a statue of obsidian.

"...And let me handle Sephiroth," she had told Cloud and the others before she slipped away into the night. She had every intention of living up to those words, however was needed, whatever the cost. His long, angular face tilted up ever-so-slightly, the bangs of his spidersilk mane gently falling away to reveal his unnaturally light aquamarine eyes as they fixed immediately upon her.

Aeris, for all her brave and noble words, went completely still.

Her rational mind fled into the dark corners of her psyche and cringed away from his even gaze as a strange, all-consuming panic began to swell in her lower abdomen. In his right hand, he gripped his weapon of choice, the six-foot-long _nodachi_ called the Masamune; the myriad of unearthly lights generated by the strange rock formations gleaning off of its polished metal surface. By the Planet, she was petrified. Absolutely petrified. He hadn't even so much as moved yet, she thought incredulously. His expression was blank, nearly bored, as her courage and determination continued to shrivel into nothing; her wide-eyed stare flickering from his face, to his weapon, and back to his face. She wasn't certain if she were imagining things, but Aeris could have sworn she saw the smallest hint of a brazen smirk pull at his lips.

The movement, minuscule as it may have been, was enough to momentarily jar her from the spell he'd so effortlessly put her under. As it was, it still took several seconds of her visibly getting her bearings and a hefty gulp of air before she simply asked, "Why are you doing this?"

A silver brow arched minutely. "I've yet to do anything."

She held her staff tighter. "Why do you want to summon Meteor?"

His mask never faltered. "You know that answer as well as I do, little Cetra," he stated, his deep, rich voice as dark and smooth as the black leather coat he wore. "Humanity is a disease upon the Planet; a wretched little creature that has ripped into the world's flesh like rabid wolves and is now bleeding it dry."

"So you choose to commit mass murder?" she demanded.

His head cocked to the side in a vaguely mocking gesture. "What, would you rather them destroy themselves and the world with it? Hm?" He paused briefly, not caring if she answered, but merely for the dramatic effect. "No, I didn't think so. Meteor will cleanse this world of inferior life, and when Mother and I become the Gods we so deserve, I shall recreate it correctly."

Aeris bristled. "In _your_ image."

His answer was succinct. "No, in Mother's." His expression relaxed, seemingly unaware of it, his stare becoming unfocused as he peered harmlessly through her. "...It will be _wonderful_," he sighed with reverence.

"No, it won't be," she replied hastily. His eyes instantly sharpened on her, his face drawing tight. "Jenova is just using you."

She saw righteous anger flash beneath the icy shield before it disappeared altogether. Casually, he broke eye contact and flicked his wrist, light winking off the Masamune as it cut through the air. His left hand caught the metal, cleaning it idly with his thumb. "You know," he began in a droll monotone, "Mother wants me to kill you." Her stomach tightened. He glanced at her, past the thin, monstrous blade that was strategically poised at an angle between his eyes. "Should I?"

Aeris' mouth went dry, but she none the less sucked in a breath. His madness had to end now; she had to bring him to his senses. "If you must," she answered slowly, "but tell me this, Sephiroth. Why does she want me dead--and why do _you_ disagree?"

He smirked. "Did I ever say that I disagreed?"

"I'm still alive," she observed.

"Only because I've yet to see fit to kill you," he explained coolly, the knowing leer still adorning his face. "Are you prepared to die?"

She steeled herself. "Are _you_?"

The smirk vanished. "What challenge could you possibly offer me, little witch?"

Aeris lifted her head, squaring her shoulders. "None," she said, "but I'm not your enemy, Sephiroth. _Jenova_ is. She feeds off of the pain and suffering of others, and latches on to those who have lost hope. She leads them astray, stringing them along before casting them aside when their usefulness runs out to die by the enemies they made, if not by her own hand."

"Nonsense," he scoffed, though the smoldering inferno inside his narrowed aquamarine orbs told her otherwise.

"What about the clones?"

"Expendable automatons."

"The people of Nibelheim?"

"Merely a demonstration."

"Manipulating Cloud?"

"Means to an end."

"Murdering Shinra?"

His lips split into a smile, one that seemed oddly genuine, but no less unnerving. "That was just good time fun."

She sighed, stilling her fingers before they could instinctively latch onto the side of her dress. She needed a different tactic. "And what about you?"

His back straightened. "What _about_ me?"

She remained quiet for a moment, amazed the query had gained his attention. "What do you think Jenova will do with you once you summon Meteor?"

"The same thing she has done since I freed her from her prison in the Nibelheim Reactor," he rebuked sharply. "Care for me, protect me, guide me to the glory which rightfully belongs our people."

"The Cetra, you mean," she supplied tersely. "You're no Cetra, Sephiroth. You never were."

"Lies," he hissed, his glower spitting blue-green flames.

"No lies come from me," Aeris answered, her soft voice calmer than she felt. "I am the last Cetra; I have been the last Cetra since my mother, Ilfalna, died in the Sector 5 train-station." He shook his head in denial as she pressed on. "And when I die, the Cetra will pass from this world forever."

"Perhaps I should test that theory of yours," he threatened, his grip tightening around the sword's hilt, "and then we will see who is right."

"Yes, then we _would_ see, wouldn't we?" she uttered enigmatically, noting the murderous images that were clearly running through his mind. Strangely, her mind and body went numb, having been pushed past the point of fear and were now only acting out of intuition and instinct. "Alright, let's say for the moment that you're right. Jenova is a Cetra, and so are you. So, explain something to me. How could she survive two-thousand years buried under tons of rock and ice?"

"The innate power a Cetra holds kept my mother alive during those dark years," he riposted hastily, as if he were reading from a script.

"I couldn't survive that," Aeris pointed out.

He snorted. "You're a weak half-breed."

"You're a strong half-breed, and _you_ couldn't survive that, either," she countered.

"How can you be so certain of that, witch?" he sneered. "I am the strongest being alive, and survived Death itself. I hold no doubt I could survive."

"Perhaps you should _test_ that theory of yours, and then we'll see who's right," she replied, her lips pulling up into a derisive smirk, silently goading him on; certain that she had lost her own mind in the process.

He fell silent, his expression betraying nothing, but his hesitation was telling enough. She stifled her excitement. Weakness. "And since we're on the subject of surviving, if the Cetra were capable of living thousands of years in such difficult conditions, how is it that we're the only ones left today?"

"The humans betrayed us," he answered, scornful.

"I thought you said the humans were weaklings; inferior to the Cetra." She rose a delicate eyebrow quizzically. "You, a _half_-Cetra, could destroy an entire town full of them with no trouble at all."

"And you could easily die by the hand of one," he spat back. "Your point is moot."

"Not necessarily," she replied. "If humans are indeed inferior to the Cetra, then it means that both of us would be weaker than a full-blooded Cetra, correct? Surely, if a handful of Cetra were even on par with your level of strength, then humanity would have never done the damage Jenova claimed that it did." She paused. "And you know it."

Sephiroth's jade-sapphire eyes flickered weakly, withdrawing into himself. She knew the expression well, having bore it on numerous occasions while speaking with the Planet. He was conferring. "They had the advantage of numbers," he explained evenly.

She shook her head, her thick braid swaying behind her. "The Cetra used to share this world with the humans equally. There was no advantage."

"How would _you_ know?" he snapped with contempt.

"Because unlike you, I can hear the voices of my people and the Planet," she retorted proudly, "and unlike your 'Mother', they don't fill my head with lies."

His silver brows knitted together in mild distress as he listened to the voice of Jenova, or possibly even argued with it. She took a breath and continued. "You never answered my question. You were considered to be a brilliant man, right? If Jenova was a Cetra, and all Cetra were that powerful, why are we the only ones still living?"

"Why does it matter?" he barked defensively, eyes narrowed and distrusting.

"Answer the question, Sephiroth," she commanded, her heart hammering in her chest. "Give me a good explanation. As your kin, I deserve as much."

"Traitors deserve nothing!" he bellowed. "You, who sympathize with those inferior creatures, hardly deserves to _breathe_, much less interrogate me on such drivel! You know nothing!"

"And yet, I still know more than you," she responded plainly, her voice unwavering in its strength.

He bared his teeth in a vicious, inhuman snarl as his plated shoulders rolled in the beginning motions of a forward charge. The Masamune, she saw, was at the ready; the shamelessly deadly tip pointed at her like a scorpion's tail. Yet, he managed only one step before he unexpectedly jerked to a halt. "You will die for such words! Mother survived, trapped alone in her prison as punishment for surviving the humans' slaughter!"

"She was trapped as punishment for her betrayal!" she yelled. "The Cetra took her in, cared for her, befriended her, and she struck them down without mercy or remorse!"

"You lie!" The Masamune trembled minutely. "Mother is a Cetra, and wishes to protect us from humanity and create a utopia in which we shall be born anew!"

"So why is she ordering you to kill me?" she questioned.

"Because you seek to derail our path to glory," the former General thundered. "You wish to destroy our legacy, our right to survive!"

She frowned. "How will killing me help the Cetra's survival? I die and the legacy of the Cetra dies with me, that I can promise you."

"Untrue, and irrelevant besides," Sephiroth advocated heatedly. "After absorbing the Planet's energy, we shall recreate the Cetra race as it once was, and as the strongest, I will be their ruler."

Despite her better judgement urging her not to, she shook her head frustratedly. "I told you, Sephiroth, you're not a Cetra. Jenova isn't a Cetra. How could she be if she stayed alive for so long? How could she be if she wants to destroy humanity; if she wants you to kill _me_?"

"With the wisdom and power that she has shown me, how could Mother be anything else?" he pressed defiantly, blue-green glare blazing.

It was becoming increasingly apparent that he was wholly devoted to his 'Mother', and a portion of her ached for the madman. He was practically bursting with passion and determination that only needed a proper, healthy outlet. Seeing him under Jenova's spell was heart-wrenching, if only because he was wasting all that loyalty and trust on something unworthy of such fealty.

She had to make him see this. She had to.

"_Think_, Sephiroth," she demanded, tapping the mythril staff impatiently on the alabaster stone floor with a loud _clank_. "You were at the Temple; you saw the murals, you read the text!"

"Of course the Cetra that harbored the Black Materia would make Mother the criminal!" he sustained. "They, after all, imprisoned her."

Aeris' gaze locked on his intently, tilting her head to the side as if she'd heard incorrectly. "I thought you said _humanity_ imprisoned her."

"I..." He shook his head angrily. "You are trying to confuse me, corrupt me, little witch, and it will not work!"

Aeris took a step forward, holding out one hand placidly. "The only thing I want to do is help you."

"Many have said that to me in my lifetime, temptress. None followed through." The voice weaved of ebony silk began to fray at the edges, unraveling further with every word spoken. "None ever lifted a finger to aid me when I needed it, when I _pleaded_ for it. They all stood and watched from the side, torturing me, forcing me to do their will against my own. _Many_ said they would help me, and fool that I was, I believed them. They lied to me, ripped me of my innocence, stripped me of my dignity, robbed me of my supposed 'humanity'--" He snorted bitterly. "Not that I ever _had_ any. None dared approach me. _None_, save for my Mother. She was the only one to ever listen to my cries, to heed my call."

"_She_ heeded _your_ call?" She tilted her head, her thick brown bangs falling across her uncomprehending gaze. "You've deluded yourself."

He clenched the Masamune's royal blue handle, the leather squeaking with protest. "I see with perfectly clarity, traitorous witch."

"You see only what your puppet-master wants you to see," she challenged boldly. His piercing glare brightened with outrage. "You've suffered your entire life, but where was Jenova during all of this? Did _she_ aid you when you begged for it? Did she 'heed your call' when you needed her to the most?" A flash of doubt. "No. She only paid attention to your cries for help when it was to _her_ benefit, when you were at your lowest, your must vulnerable, and coincidentally nearest to where she was being held."

He blinked, a faint crack slithering up the mask. "She was trapped," he justified half-heartedly, the statement missing the dominating strength behind his previous words. "She was imprisoned by Shinra, incapable of escape."

The Cetra lifted her chin stoically. "Odd, then, that the only person in the world capable of freeing her single-handedly was _you_." Inhalation. Prayer. "You were her tool, a means of gaining revenge that she herself couldn't exact. So, she 'guided' you, twisted you to her liking so you would be all too willing to slaughter in her name. Not the _Cetra's_ name, _her_ name. Has she ever even _mentioned_ the Cetra without you having to bring it up first?" The uncertainty grew; the fissure widened. "Don't you see, Sephiroth? Don't you understand? Jenova _never_ cared for you. Jenova has never cared for _anyone_. She used you just as Shinra used you, just as Hojo used you, and she will continue to use you until she gets what she wants, and then she will abandon you to die along with everyone else--unless you stop this here and now."

With the wavering of his immaculate stance, the legendary _nodachi_ inexplicably vanishing from his fingers, the unmovable obsidian statue the Great Sephiroth had come to be seen as crumbled with a solemn bow of his head. Aeris felt a painful tug at her heart. The last thing she had ever wanted to do was cause pain to another, especially one who, while severely misguided and responsible for horrid acts, had been wronged so badly. He had been hurt and betrayed by everyone around him, it was no wonder he had gone insane from it all; latching on to the first thing that appeared to offer him belonging and acceptance. Life was cruelest to those who never deserved it.

Mournfully, she murmured, "I'm so sorry, Sephiroth. I wish I didn't have to tell you these things." She took another tentative step forward, the light _thud_ echoing in the expansive chamber desolately. "I know what it's like," she continued, "to be different, to be alone. I know how much it hurts to think you have no place in the world...but I can tell you that everyone has a purpose." Swallowing her anxiety, the flower girl laid her staff on the ground at her feet and cautiously but steadily began to close the distance between them, observing as she neared that his large, powerful hands were balled into trembling fists at his sides. "And, right now, _my_ purpose is to help you find yours." She lifted her hands, palms out, in a gesture of calming. "Let me help you, Sephiroth. Please."

She gently reached for him, touching the sides of either upper arm in consolation; minutely surprised by how soft the sable leather coat was. Through the fabric, she felt him shiver with all the emotion he'd never allowed himself to feel, the poor soul. Restraining herself from sighing, she shifted her gaze upward, peering past the waterfall of sterling silk that obscured his face.

She went rigid, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Sephiroth was smiling.

His eyes were closed tightly in something resembling pain, but he was _smiling_; grinning ear to ear, flashing his perfect white teeth as if he'd caught on to a hilarious joke that only he knew about. A crippling fright seized her plait form; one that felt infinitely more paralyzing than her previous bout only minutes before. One did not smile after learning that everything they knew was a lie. Breathless, she stammered, "S-Sephir..."

She trailed off when he began to chuckle low in his throat, his chest and shoulders quaking. He pivoted his head away, the taut muscles coming to life lethargically, like parts of a rusted machine. Without thought, she backed away; her arms still outstretched, her hands still spread in her defunct gesture of good will. He shook his head as his laughter strengthened, his right hand holding his forehead while the fingertips of his left were pressed against his temple.

He continued to laugh as he stumbled backwards, his grace forgotten, falling clumsily to his knees. His long, gloved fingers slid to his scalp, twining tightly into the uniform silver locks. With what began as a prolonged bark of laughter, but quickly morphed into a sound so intensely raw with emotion that it physically pained her to listen to it, he yanked at the silken hair trapped within his fists.

Suddenly, while she watched on in horror as the last vestiges of Sephiroth's sanity snapped and withered, Aeris realized too late that she had erred terribly. All these years he had only been teetering precariously on the edge, ironically held back by Jenova's talons. The knowledge that he was yet again used, and by the one he had so foolishly trusted the most, finally sent him careening over it.

Suddenly, she realized she was going to die.

* * *

**The Devil's Advocate  
**_Afterward_

**in·san·i·ty  
**_n. pl._ **in·san·i·ties **

1. Persistent mental disorder or derangement. No longer in scientific use.  
2. Law.  
a. Unsoundness of mind sufficient in the judgment of a civil court to render a person unfit to maintain a contractual or other legal relationship or to warrant commitment to a mental health facility.  
b. In most criminal jurisdictions, a degree of mental malfunctioning sufficient to relieve the accused of legal responsibility for the act committed.  
3.  
a. Extreme foolishness; folly.  
b. Something that is extremely foolish.

If one chooses to believe in the insane ideals of another, does that make them insane, as well?

At the risk of revealing more about my personal life than I most likely should, I'll start off by saying that I'm well acquainted with the concept of insanity. Moreover, I'm well-versed in the reality of insanity brought on by a nervous breakdown. Having seen first hand what years' worth of repressed memories and emotions will do to a person's mental state, I believe I have enough experience to grasp the differences between psychological instability and outright lunacy. I've seen a lot of both. So, from that perspective, I think I can say with a pretty good accuracy that in the game, Sephiroth never quite reached the latter.

Oh, he was quite unstable, I won't argue that. Homicidal, delusional, and with a Messiah complex the size of a Buick, yes, but one can be all of those things without being clinically insane. Sephiroth, if you recall, still seemed quite lucid and capable of rational thought throughout the course of the game. Granted, there's the mention of using Meteor to become a God and create life as he deems fit, but those ideas weren't a product of his own mind, and therefore could be attributed to outside manipulation, which brings me back to my first question.

If one chooses to believe in the insane ideals of another, does that make them insane, as well?

That in and of itself is an oxymoron. One can't come to a conscious decision to believe what someone tells them and be completely beyond rational thought. Willfully deluding one's self into believing what someone tells them, illogical or not, doesn't make them insane; it just makes them gullible. Sephiroth, for all his iron will, had gullibility _(read: ignorance) _in abundance.

Imagine for a moment; put yourself in the position of the Big S. You have no knowledge of your origin aside from a scant few lines some bastard of a scientist fed you, and only scattered memories of your past--which are extremely bleak ones, I might add. A greedy fascist of a company CEO runs your life just like he does his business, dictating where you go, what you do, and even who you are. You know that he nor anyone else cares anything for you, beyond what you can offer them. You know that you're far from normal, that you're very different somehow, but that's no reason for everyone to treat you the way they do. You're human, right?

What if you weren't?

What if you were exactly what everyone treated you as? You could never find your past because you never had one; it was irrelevant, anyway. You were a lab rat, a walking monster on a tight leash. You have nothing. You _are_ nothing. Imagine for a moment, just how much would that fuck with your sense of self?

Then, like an angel, a presence comes swooping down in your darkest hour. It tells you what you've always been yearning to hear; you're special, you're better then they are, they don't deserve you, they should pay for all the suffering they've made you and everyone else endure, and most importantly, that you're loved. You're not a freak, you're not a monster, or a walking weapon; you're descended from something beautiful that's been buried and exploited by those who have harmed you so much in the past. They need to pay, and pay dearly, and then, _then_, you can recreate this beautiful society that you came from--recreate their wonderful, peaceful world where you don't have to worry about being abused and abandoned. You'll be loved for all eternity, and it will help you get all of that, if you just free her from the prison they've put her in. Just help her, and love her the way she loves you.

'Crazy' is an easy way out; a one-size-fits-all description of anyone and anything that is odd or disturbing in nature. Sephiroth was indeed odd, disturbing, and most likely sociopathic, but he wasn't insane.

He was a Grade-A sucker.

If one chooses to believe in the insane ideals of another, does that make them insane, as well?

Maybe, maybe not. But in the end, as is always the case, it probably doesn't make a difference. The poor bastard.

**_The End_**


End file.
